


==>Vriska: Find the Perfect Grub

by Quilly



Series: Married with Grubs [4]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: F/M, Gen, Phase One, and john is okay with that, but there you go, in which vriska takes the time to locate a grub a Very Specific Color, incredibly self-indulgent babyfic, of the Married with Grubs event, part of the Sherlockbound/Fun with Dirk and Jane universe, they are awful parents naming their child Casey
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-06
Updated: 2014-01-06
Packaged: 2018-01-07 19:24:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1123481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quilly/pseuds/Quilly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Your name is Vriska Serket and you are on the hunt.</p>
<p>(Part of the Married with Grubs event for the Sherlockbound/Life with Dirk and Jane series. Phase One: Babies, 4/6)</p>
            </blockquote>





	==>Vriska: Find the Perfect Grub

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, all! This is an event going on at the Sherlockbound askblog (asksherlockbound.tumblr.com, check the sidebar for the Married with Grubs button) and I'm moving the drabbles over to here for other people to access, so voila! This is the fourth of six in Phase One: Babies of that event! If you're curious about what Sherlockbound/Life with Dirk and Jane is, check my page for the series Life with Dirk and Jane! 
> 
> Enjoy!

Your name is Vriska Serket and you’re done.

 

It takes a lot to make you say that, but, well, your priorities all sort of shifted around when you met John Egbert for the first time, and solidified when you visited him in the hospital after he got himself shot. You called dibs on him as your matesprit, were delighted when he reciprocated, and for about nine years, he’s been rocking your world and making you a better person. Slowly. Because you change for no one, not even John, not even when he looks at you with his eyes all sweet and asks please, Vriska, please don’t mind-control that teller into moving you up in the line. No, you’re not gonna mind-control that teller now, but _not_ because he asked nicely, but because you recognize that mind-controlling the teller would be a douchey thing to do for everyone else in line behind you.

You will admit it to no one, but you love John with every piece of your torn-up soul, and this is the last straw.

You watch the news report of the Harley Industries building going up in flames, John somber and quiet next to you as you pause between snuggles, and you watch him bite his lip about raw. You look back at the fire and wonder if you would have the strength to go in if you lost everything, if you’d douse yourself in water like Karkat and pull John out like he’s doing for Jade. A second later you know you wouldn’t, because you’d stop the fire from ever happening in the first place. You’re going to be that good for him.

You just wish you could’ve been that good for whatever mutant baby Jade was trying to make for you and John. The idea still appeals to you, in its way—a little organism that is genetically half you, half John, and totally capable of taking over the world. You’ve thought a lot about that little organism, that little mutant hybrid human-troll thingy. You named it and everything. Picked out colors for its room (blue and red, of course). Talked to John sometimes about grublegs and baby toes and small little personages in general (somehow leprechauns got dragged into it but you were both mostly asleep so you don’t remember much).

You watch the lab out back of the building go completely up as Karkat carries Jade out, ignore the fanfare of the reporter, and feel a stirring in your blood-pusher. If someone would go to this much trouble to stop something that doesn’t even exist yet…how much trouble would they go through to kill something living? Would you even be able to stop that fire?

You turn off the TV and wrap yourself around John, and he clings to you and shudders through a dry sob.

If Jade comes to you about picking the project back up, you’re backing out. No exceptions. You are not risking it this time. Not on your life, certainly not on John’s, not on the hypothetical almost-grubthing’s.

“At least she’s alright,” you say, and John nods, pulls back, and kisses you, soft and sweet.

“We’re not going through with it,” you say, and he sighs but nods.

“I know.”

He kisses you again, a little harder and a little more desperate, in that way that makes your toes curl, and you kiss him back.

You wake up the next morning with sunlight in your eyes, roll your head to the side, and watch John as he starts to wake up. His face is kinda screwed up, so it won’t be long. Finally he rubs his eyes and opens them, and the sun happens to hit them in just the right place and makes ‘em look like the deepest part of the sky in the middle of the afternoon, all blue and wide and jewel-toned. You rub your knuckles against his scruff, watching his eyes, and an idea starts to form.

You should discuss it with John first. But you kinda want to see if it’s possible, to begin with.

You’re in the brooding caverns for hours, which is unprecedented but you figure a little mental nudge while you keep looking doesn’t hurt anybody, really. The little grubs don’t even notice you’re there except for when you accidentally trip over a couple. You find just about every shade of blue you can think of, but not that one that’s just… _perfect_.

You go home frustrated and don’t tell John why, and because you have trained him well he doesn’t ask why beyond the mandatory “is it legal” you haven’t been able to break him of but suppose it’s for the best. You know he kind of wants to talk about the fire, but you find you do not, so you brush off the topic and distract him with sloppy makeouts to Nicolas Cage movies (you are still surprised that works on him after nearly ten years, but not too much). Of course, you can only distract him with that for so long before he looks at you meaningfully with those devastating eyes of his. They look different now. Darker. More like…more like a sunlit portion of deep ocean. Huh.

Another trip to the brooding caverns (a couple weeks after your first excursion) and another few hours later, you still cannot find that perfect shade. You know it’s probably petty to look for a grub of a specific color rather than a specific temperament, but, well, you’re petty, so there. You just kinda…want to find a grub that exact shade of blue, alright? You’ve been schoolfed about human genetics, so you’re not willing to take the chance that any kid John creates won’t have any of him in it, particularly his eyes. Who wants some random lady’s spawn running around, anyway?

Some random troll’s spawn, on the other hand, is alright, if only you could find the right _shade_ …

Something drops right on your head and you let out a startled yelp, tearing the wriggling thing out of your hair as gently as you can, and you pause as you get a load of the brat, gumming on strands of grub silk and bigger than its fellows, so close to pupation. In the dim light, its shade almost looks…

You flip out your cell phone.

“John,” you say sharply, “I need you. Right now.”

“Right now?” he says, and his voice is embarrassingly teasing. Your cheeks flare blue against your will. “I’m kind of busy.”

“Right now,” you snap. “And what if I’m missing a limb here, Egbert? Don’t always assume I’m talking about pailing you when I call you like this, alright? One day there’s gonna be a serious problem and you’ll feel like a tool for coming onto me when I’m bleeding out!”

“If something that bad was happening, you wouldn’t be shouting,” he says, and you frown. “Alright, I’m on my way.”

“Not home,” you say. “Brooding caverns. Just outside of town.”

He’s silent for a while. “Oh.”

More silence. “John?”

“I’m here,” he says, and breathes slowly. “Uh. I’ll be right there. Okay?”

He hangs up, and you continue looking at this grub. It’s looking at you with the dumbest grin you’ve ever seen on any face ever, with little bitty horns that curve inward. It’s pretty freakin’ adorable. And also gumming on your thumb. Ew. Ew? Ew.

Awwww. It won’t stop smiling at you.

John arrives in about fifteen minutes, because you’ve moved out to the outer cave, still carrying the grub, and you’ve undergone something of a transformation in the past fifteen minutes. You are kind of terrified, because you don’t foresee yourself letting go of this grub anytime soon and you don’t know how to handle that. John takes one look at you, and at the grub, and his eyes get very wide.

He approaches slowly, and you hold up the grub for inspection. He blinks, and you look between the two of them, and nod.

“Perfect match,” you say, and he blinks again, frowning.

“Huh?”

You place the grub in his arms. He jumps a little, but softens as the grub starts chirruping.

“One grub, Egbert-blue,” you say, and he looks up at you mutely. You stare back.

“Are we ready for this?” John says, kinda hoarse, and you look down at the grub, and back up, and nod firmly.

“If we were ready for a mutant baby,” you say, “we’re ready for a grub.” You step a little closer and lower your voice. “And, believe me, I’ve looked all over the place. I haven’t been able to find a shade this close.” You pause to tickle the grub’s soft underbelly, and it wriggles and squeaks. John’s expression sort of melts. Bingo.

Paperwork doesn’t take terribly long; you heard horror stories about when Karkat and Jade went to adopt Dustin, about how the cavern workers didn’t even let them in the first time because they weren’t married, and the second time were dragging their feet over Karkat’s blood color. Well, you and John have been married for four years and if they don’t think a blueblood can take care of another blueblood, you have the mind control to ease things along. John nudges you, and you amend that statement to “we are totally going home with this grub legally with no outside influence.” Yeah. That’s what you meant.

There’s an unspoken jolt of “ _holy jegus_ ” when the paperwork is done and you are allowed to leave with your little grub. According to the jadebloods, an embarrassing computer error wiped this particular shade of blue from the system entirely, so the little guy has no hatchsign or ancestral name. He’s a blank slate.

You and John decided on a name instantly, however, when asked.

“Casey,” you say at the same time, and grin at each other.

“Casey Nicolas,” John says.

“Casey Nicolas Egbert,” you finish, and he blinks, but grins so widely you very nearly forget all decorum and smooch his dumb bucktoothed face right there. The jadeblood filling out the paperwork just shakes her head and continues writing.

Little Casey comes home with you and has a whole big play area to himself, which he loves. The three of you play around for basically the rest of the day, pausing only to rush to Wal-Mart’s grub section to pick up a few necessities (grub diapers, grub mush, sturdier toys, and a pupa incubator).

Usually at night you and John have the routine of cuddling and watching the news before bed (human beds, you’ve come to realize, are so awesome when there’s a human derp in them with you). However, when you are Vriska Serket and you pick up an impromptu grub, you have to live with the consequences of having an actual little life dependent on you now. You are halfway into a good solid snuggle when you hear the little guy’s frightened chirps from the nursery.

You look at John. He looks at you. You both kind of laugh.

“I guess we’ve got to make a lot more changes than we thought, huh,” he says, and you sigh.

“I guess,” you grump, and then throw the blankets off. “I’ll get him.”

Casey wails every time you try to put him back down, so you just bring him into the bed with you and John. He drops off soon after that, and you look across his glossy just-right-blue exoskeleton at John.

“Congrats, Dad,” you say. “Your son is a total mama’s boy.”

“He’s got an awesome mom,” John replies, and you find yourself grinning stupidly.

“Darn right,” you just say anyway, and plant a big kiss on top of Casey’s head, between the horns. That makes the little guy chirp sleepily and you chirp back and, well, that’s that.

You’re a mom.


End file.
